Thicker than Concrete
by DispatchesFromDistrict7
Summary: After falling into the grips of her mental illness Katniss learns that, not only can she recover, but that life can be good again, especially when she accepts a helping hand. Modern AU inspired by the last few chapters of Mockingjay. Story Cover created by Ro Nordmann (Ro-Little-Shop-of-Wonders on tumblr).


The door creaks as it opens. Whoever it is, I don't want to talk to them. I just want to sleep, so I burrow further into the bed tucking the ends of the comforter under my head. Nothing good could come of my getting up.

The bed dips. By the weight, I know it's Gale. He tugs at the comforter, pulling it away from my face. I keep my eyes closed. I don't want to talk to him right now.

"Catnip? You can't keep ignoring me," he says quietly. "I loved her too."

My eyes open but I don't look at him. I stare out the window next to my bed. If I'd ignored him a little more then maybe she'd still be here.

—

I go through the motions.

Get up. Skip breakfast. Sit in class. Go home and get back into bed. Mom makes me come down for dinner. Gale usually joins us but tonight he doesn't since Mom needed to talk to me.

We are halfway through dinner when the bomb drops. Suddenly all I see is fire. Buildings ablaze. Children burning.

I blink and see my mother standing on her feet in front of me. My plate is shattered on the floor, peas scattered and gravy splattered everywhere. Shaking my head, I get up and silently pick up the mess before going back to bed.

—

I sigh as Gale parks his '76 Chevy pick-up truck. I just want to go home, but he's been so patient with me that for once I couldn't ignore him when he begged me to help him pick out new paint.

He'd come to my room this morning and sat on the bed like he has every Saturday since it happened. He pulled the comforter out from around me.

"I need your help," he said.

I blinked and looked at him.

"I want to surprise Rory and paint his room. He needs something…" he blew out a breath, "you know I suck at this stuff. I'll try to find a nice shade of green but I'll come home with something pink."

I rolled my eyes. "Just read the label."

"But what if it's named something weird that has nothing to do with the actual color? You know how those paint chips are, they could be called something like 'Groovy' or 'Gleam'. Please, this is for Rory."

He had sat there silently waiting for my response. Finally, I sat up. A big grin to spread across Gale's face. He knew he had won. How could I say no to helping him with something for Rory? Besides, left to his own devices he would pick out pink, thanks to his colorblindness.

I release my seatbelt and slide out of the truck, slamming the heavy door. Gale admonishes me to be more careful. The truck is his baby. It had been his dad's. His mom maintained it for him after our fathers died, so he could have it when he turned sixteen.

He joins me on the sidewalk, which borders Panem's Central Park. As we walk toward the direction of the local paint store, Gale tries to talk me into getting lunch first, but I just ignore him and keep walking. The tone of his voice begins to get short. My lack of response is irritating him. I don't care. I'm starting to think the paint errand was just an excuse anyway.

My eyes scan the park when I see a woman with long, salt-n-pepper hair. She is calling off to a small child who is toddling nearby, probably her grandchild. My breath catches when I realize it's Coin and I close my eyes.

—

Mutt. She's a mutt. Her hair snakes around her head and hisses at me. It's her fault. I wish I had my father's bow. I would pull the string taught and release. My arrow would strike her in the heart. She wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else.

Her cackle rings through my ears and I know I must be the one to stop her. I feel the fire build within, the flames licking up my back. I rise up and spread my arms. I have wings, which allow me to fly down upon her. She will burn with me. For Prim.

—

Suddenly they are upon me. I fight hard, resisting. Scaly, lizard like monsters grab hold of me. Their breath reeks of roses. A dull roar fills my ears. This is my punishment because they don't understand. She could do it again. She has to be stopped. I feel a bit of sadness over the fact that my mother will now be completely alone. I feel my body begin to give - tearing apart. I hold in my screams. They will not hear me scream.

—

I fight the restraints as the roar in my ears continues; only now it's louder. One lizard mutt remains by my side. He grabs my arm. I try to fight as he inserts a tracker. They don't want to lose me. They know I'm too dangerous.

—

Here is my chance. The straps loosen and I punch out my arms and kick my legs. They can't have me. I'm a firebird. You can't cage a firebird, especially one with a mission. Four people dressed in white surround me. Their lips move but I can't hear them.

In Latin class, we would say they are "avox" without voice. I'm carried and laid onto a bed. I feel straps cross my body, and pinning me down. The harsh coldness of metal encases my wrist. I continue to fight. The fire is within me. It burns hotter up my arms. White lights burst before my eyes before everything goes dark.

—

_The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling me to join them._

I was a bird once. A firebird. A phoenix. No longer. These birds settle on branches next to me and sing. Often it's Gale or my mother. But sometimes it's daddy. My favorite days are when the bird that sings to me is Prim. She is a small white bird, the tips of her feathers tinged with pink. Those are good days. The best days.

—

Today I walk. I wander. The chill in the air raises goose bumps on my arms. I'm trapped inside. Suddenly the ground opens up. I cling to a wall as I watch people fall into the chasm. I know it's my fault. I led them here. It's _all_ my fault. I sit against the wall shivering, tallying up my losses, all in the pursuit of revenge.

—

Lately the only birds that visit me are daddy and Prim. Gale still comes and sings but not as often. But when he does he looks haggard. I guess he became tired of my lack of response. My mother flew away a while ago. I'm not sure how long, but long enough that I'm sure she's not coming back. I'm not surprised. Prim is singing today. I feel the warmth of the sun on my face as I'm lulled by her voice until she asks me to release her from her cage, which confuses me.

—

I sit in the garden listening to Prim. Again, she asks me to let her go. She's asked for it more often lately. I've never been able to deny Prim anything, so I smile. As she flies away, I notice a jay swoop over to the apple tree. He calls for his mate to follow. They fly off as a yellow leaf flutters to the ground. It reminds me of a song daddy taught me when I was little. About a mythical bird called the mockingjay. That is what he always called me. His little mockingjay. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and begin to sing.

—

My voice is rusty at first. It cracks from lack of use. Soon the notes and melodies easily escape my lips with ease. I wander the grounds. I walk the halls. I sing the folk songs daddy taught me. I sing Prim's favorite lullabies as a baby. I sing my favorite indie rock songs that used to drive my mother nuts, but is and will always be vastly superior to the "light adult pop" she prefers.

—

_Strange things did happen here_  
_No Stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

I finish the last stanza of the haunting folk song that daddy loved, but disturbed my mother. It took me years to understand why my singing it upset her. The song is as twisted as the necklace of rope it refers to, but for some reason it gives me comfort.

No birds visit me anymore. They have flown south for the winter.

—

My eyes open and I take in my surroundings. I'm dressed in a blue gown and sitting in a chair by a window. I look out the rain-spattered glass, today is a gray day but the grass is green. I smile as I spot a dandelion. I see my nesting jays. My eyes flit over the room I sit in. It is sterile. No personal effects. Just a chair and a bed. It looks like any hospital room. I lift my hands and touch my face before running a hand over my hair. It's in a braid. Not unusual.

Where am I and why am I here? What has happened?

I stand and purposely walk out the door to find someone. To find some answers.

* * *

**A/N:**

**This is the beginning of what will be a significant journey. I wove quite a few Mockingjay references into the prologue. I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Thank you Pookieh for beta-ing this chapter. As always, you are amazing. Thank you to Fnur for pre-reading your feedback was invaluable. This story couldn't have gotten off the ground without the support of both Chelziebelle and Baronesskika. You are awesome women.**

**If you'd like more information about my fanfiction, please visit my tumblr: dispatchesfromdistrict7**

**The characters are the property of the amazing Suzanne Collins and do not belong to me. You probably also have noticed I'll occasionally weave in one of the famous lines from her novels. Those totally belong to Ms. Collins too.**


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